


what a day for a daydream

by grahamcrackers



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Mike Hanlon Deserves Nice Things, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Sad with a Happy Ending, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamcrackers/pseuds/grahamcrackers
Summary: what a day for a daydreamin' boy
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	what a day for a daydream

**Author's Note:**

> mike hanlon is so underappreciated in the fandom and i just thought he deserved a fic centered around him that's all
> 
> title is from the song 'daydream' by the lovin' spoonful (which is such a cute song, i recommend it for sure!!)
> 
> constructive criticism is encouraged, i love you all, mwah
> 
> also ngl i love having conversations in the comments please i thrive off your validation

Mike Hanlon was different than everyone else.

It was just something everyone in Derry knew, something everyone in Derry was aware of-it was just a common courtesy to not say anything.

He tried to ignore the stares that followed him when he so much as walked down the street through Upper Derry (it wasn’t easy), tried to pretend like he couldn’t hear people talk about his parents when they thought he wasn’t listening (he was), tried to act like it didn’t bother him when he heard Eddie Corcoran’s father telling his son to stay away (it did).

Even among his friends, the Losers, he was different. He knew it, they knew it, and it was a wonder nobody said anything.

In other words, Mike Hanlon was lonely.

It probably suited him.

\-----------------------------------

SEPTEMBER 17, 1989

“No, no, dipshit, you’re putting it in the wrong way!”

Mike fights back a sigh, shooting Bill a sympathetic smile from his place on the feeble rope swing.

Bill, for his part, waves back solemnly, busy with trying to wrestle the CD player out of Richie’s arms while simultaneously keeping it away from Eddie’s.

“No, I’m not-give that shit back, Bill-” Richie hisses between gritted teeth, kicking his foot out to knock Bill off-balance. The action’s in vain, however, when Richie stumbles backwards instead and knocks his head against the support pole behind them.

“Oh, fuck, nice going, idiot!” Eddie trills, sliding to his knees to scold the other.

Mike chuckles, kicking at the hard packed dirt at his feet absently and looking to Bill, who wears a bemused expression as he carefully pushes a CD into the player before starting a slow gait over to Stan.

Briefly, bitterly, Mike considers that he’s the only of the seven who’s sitting alone. He shakes the thought away, mentally scolding himself.

_You came later, it’s fine, you’re used to it, aren’t you?_

(Yes, he’s used to it.)

\-----------------------------------

DECEMBER 12, 1989

Mike absently picks at an old, worn guitar. His grandfather said it’d belonged to his father, Will, and Mike supposes he feels a bit more like his dad was just a little closer to him when he held the thing.

The crackling CD player he’d dug out of Leroy’s attic croaked out the lyrics of a song he’d found on a CD in a clear case labelled “for Mikey”.

Though he couldn’t quite remember, he was sure the smooth and flowing writing was his mother’s.

_Dreamin’ ‘bout my bundle of joy_  
_And even if time ain’t really on my side_  
_It’s one of those days for takin’ a walk outside_

The guitar feels heavy in his hands, the weight of what had happened to its owner almost overwhelming.

_It’s not yours._

Mike sets it down.

\-----------------------------------

JANUARY 2, 1990

Nobody else could make it to Bill’s for his New Years party, so Mike’s sitting on the couch awkwardly with a bowl of watermelon covered in plastic wrap on his lap.

“Um,” he can’t help but feel like he’s not meant to be here, like without the others he isn’t allowed to hang out with any one of the Losers.

“W-wanna watch a m-muh-m-fuck-movie?” Bill interjects quickly.

A beat of silence.

“I don’t know many movies,” Mike admits softly, shrugging and looking down at his watermelon, the red of the fruit oddly soothing to him.

“O-oh, that’s okay, w-we’ve got a-uh-all the classics,” Bill drops to his knees in front of the television, rifling through a stack of movies and pulling a few out, dropping them into a pile beside him, “Gremlins, Ferris B-buh-Bueller, A-Adventures in Babysitting-”

Mike wrinkles his nose at hearing the names of the movies, the tips of his ears going red in slight embarrassment. “I don’t know what those are.”

Bill is beside himself with shock, turning around so fast he probably gives himself rug burn on his knees. “Y-yuh-you’ve never seen Ferris Bue-B-” a beat, “Ferris Bueller?”

Mike simply shakes his head and chews on the inside of his cheek, tapping the side of his watermelon bowl.

“Oh my guh-god, Mikey, we gotta watch i-it,” Bill insists. He’s fumbling with the case of the movie, trying to push it into the player without damaging it too much. “S-stay here, I’m guh-getting popcorn.”

Setting the watermelon bowl on the small table next to the couch, Mike lets his gaze linger a few seconds too long on a framed photo of a small boy he assumes to be Georgie. Aside from in missing posters, Mike’s never seen the kid. 

_It’s a shame,_ Mike thinks, picking up the photo and examining the boy’s soft features, _he was so small._

He scans the picture, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. _He looks so much like Bill._

“Here,” Mike hurries to set the photo down on the table as Bill approaches, holding a green plastic bowl of popcorn and sitting down beside Mike.

The two sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, until Bill gets restless, slyly throwing pieces of popcorn at Mike’s head.

“You got tics along with that stutter?” Mike asks, turning to look at Bill and immediately regretting it. “Oh, my god, I’m sorry, that was kinda mean-”

He halts in his words out of confusion. Bill’s laughing, honest-to-god wheezing at him.

“N-nuh-no, no, it-it’s f-fine, Mikey,” Bill assures through giggles, sitting up and pinching a piece of popcorn in between his pointer finger and thumb, “but I think to make up for it, I should…”

He trails off, throwing the piece at Mike and grinning then it gets caught in his hair.

“Oh, really?” Mike takes the bowl, sticking his hand into it and scooping up a handful, launching it at Bill.

It pelts the smaller boy, sticking in his hair and falling down his shirt.

“Karma’s a bitch.”

It’s only when Sharon gets too irritated with their antics that they stop, with hushed ‘sorry, ma’am’s between them.

\-----------------------------------

“I’ve s-seen this muh-m-movie so many times,” Bill murmurs midway through Adventures in Babysitting, voice muffled against the soft cotton of Mike’s shirt, “so-so-annoying.”

“I don’t know, I think I like it,” Mike shrugs, tentatively reaching over to cradle Bill’s chin in the palm of his hand. (It’s probably not as much because of the movie as it probably should be.)

Bill yawns, waving his hand dismissively and letting his eyes slide shut. “If you like it, I-I guess it’s alright.”

There’s nowhere Mike would rather be.

\-----------------------------------

MAY 2, 1992

Through the years, their number had dwindled from seven, to six, to five, to four, and now to three.

First to go was Beverly, leaving promises to call and write (she didn’t, not after awhile) to live with her aunt in Portland.

Then Bill, the memory the town held too much to bear for his family. Same story, his calls stopped coming after so long.

After that went Stan-his family figured they should get out if they wanted their son to go anywhere. Stan kept up his calls longest, but those, too, became few and far between.

Lastly, most recently, Richie left. Packed up and headed west, without much explanation beyond “my dad wanted to”. They’d stopped hoping for calls from him, as he never even tried.  
They’re seniors now, and the reality of college and getting out for good is looming overhead like a cloud of smoke.

“God, she’s so stupid. Like, what the fuck, does she know nobody even fucking likes her?” Eddie’s gotten meaner. It started the summer of ‘89, and Mike’s sure Richie’s leaving took a toll greater than Eddie’d like to admit.

Ben nods, mostly resigned to himself. He’s gotten quieter, if that’s at all possible. Probably just doesn’t find any use in talking when Eddie does most of it for him.

Mike’s still homeschooled, so he doesn’t quite know who Eddie is talking about this time, but he just humors him with polite nods and the occasional “oh, really?”.

Somehow the conversation gets onto the topic of Ben’s mom finally selling their house in favor of a charming little place in Maryland, and Eddie’s mother deciding New York is much more suitable for her little boy.

Mike just smiles.

He’s never getting out of this place.

\-----------------------------------

MAY 20, 2010

Mike’s kept tabs on all of them. 

Beverly is breaking into the fashion business, recently engaged to Tom Rogan, a man slowly establishing himself in the industry.

Ben is a successful architect, ‘one of the most brilliant young minds in the modern world’ according to TMZ.

Richie’s been a favorite on SNL for five years, debuting a fan favorite character just last month.

As far as Mike can tell, Stan is a successful accountant in Atlanta (Mike’s always wanted to visit Georgia).

Eddie is a risk analyst (Mike isn’t quite sure what that is, but he’s seen that it pays well) in New York, a place Mike wouldn’t’ve pegged him to like much.

And Bill, Big Bill Denbrough, the bravest of them, is an author. Mike has a few of his books, and he’s not surprised in the least that Bill went down that path. 

None of them remember him, Mike knows, but it’s still nice to think he has friends somewhere.

\-----------------------------------

SEPTEMBER 4, 2016

Adrian Mellon.

He doesn’t start it, but he’s the thing that tips the scale for Mike.

Mike talks with his boyfriend, Don, who is clearly tired of being questioned.

“Did you...was there anybody else there?” Mike asks, something he’s sure Don is hearing for the umpteenth time.

“You’re not going to believe me if I say. Nobody else has,” Don is picking at his fingernails, and Mike catches a glimpse of chipping green polish on them. 

Mike chuckles slightly. “You’d be surprised.”

Don is silent for a few moments, head resting his hands. “Clown. A clown, there was-there was a fucking clown.”

A silence settles over the room, and Mike chews on his lip. “I believe you.”

“Do you? Or are you humoring me so I’ll get the hell out of your town sooner rather than later?” Don laughs humorlessly, eyes shining in the lights fixed in the ceiling. “Don’t want us fags polluting the place.”

“I don’t think like that,” Mike isn’t sure why he’s suddenly so eager to prove to Don that he’s doesn’t care about that, but it makes Don soften. “I’ve witnessed firsthand how intolerant Derry can be. You have my sympathy.”

“I don’t want your sympathy,” Don snaps.

But Mike reaches across the table, resting a hand atop Don’s arm hesitantly. “I know.”

That’s enough for Don to speak again, voice watery and cracking as he talks.

“He-he loved this stupid town. Adrian. I a-always told him they wouldn’t take kindly to us, I did, but he just loved it so fucking much,” Don wipes his eyes with his hand, breaths coming out ragged. “He didn’t owe this town shit, but he died for it.”

Mike knows that feeling better than anyone. “I’m going to figure this out,” he promises, standing up and clapping Don on the back gently. “If you need anything, you’ve got a friend at the library, okay, Don?”

Don squints up at Mike, sniffling. “Okay.”

Don is out of town in less than a week, but he leaves Mike a letter, taped to the door and addressed to ‘Mr. Hanlon’.

Mike doesn’t read it, he can’t bring himself to, not yet, but it’s enough to motivate him to pick up his phone.

Slowly, he dials Bill’s number.

\-----------------------------------

AUGUST 23, 2017

It’s been about a year, now, since Derry. 

Beverly and Ben got married in June, in a beautiful ceremony in Florida.

They all like to think Richie’s okay, but he doesn’t call as much, and when Mike sees him in interviews he looks tired and irritated. Mike can’t say he blames the guy.

They all attended a ceremony for Stan, in Georgia, giving Patty their condolences and their numbers. 

All except Richie went to Eddie’s funeral (or what they could do, without a body), and Mike couldn’t help but want to punch his wife every time she opened her mouth.

Mike’s in Washington, which is beautiful, if not a little cold. He sits at the coffee table in the living room, making notes on a manuscript he made himself. It’s a comprehensive history of Derry, compiled entirely by Mike.

It almost feels the same as in the library, save for one thing.

“H-hey, babe, you want chicken in your noddles?”

A smile plays on Mike’s lips at hearing Bill’s voice, and he turns his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds great.”

Bill grins as he enters the room, holding a bucket of popcorn in his hands and leaning over to set it down on the table next to Mike’s pile of papers. “Order is p-p-placed.”

His stutter is getting better, Mike’s noticed it for the past few months. “How long?”

Mike scoots over to allow Bill room on the couch, moving the manuscript over to rest on a table in the corner of the room.

“Um...the app s-said about fifty minutes,” Bill sits down beside Mike and leans against him, sighing and grabbing himself a piece of popcorn.

After Derry, Bill had filed for divorce with Audra. Mike actually quite liked her, she reminded him of Beverly. Bill and Audra had ‘just not worked as well as we hoped’, were Bill’s words, and Mike accepted that with a gracious nod and the offer to allow Bill with a place to stay.

One thing had led to another, and, well.

As they say, the rest is history.

Mike smiles, craning his neck to press a gentle kiss to Bill’s temple and grabbing for the remote. “What sounds good?”

Bill hastily kisses Mike’s cheek in return, pulling a blanket over both of their shoulders and tapping his chin as he thinks. “I think...Adventures in Babysitting sounds good.”

For the first time in a long time, Mike Hanlon doesn’t feel so alone.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, bill hader does not exist and is replaced with richie tozier 
> 
> i tried my best to research time and stuff, and tried to match up certain key events with the dates in the story (like stefon's first appearance on weekend update), so i apologize for inconsistencies


End file.
